Up the Withywindle
by StarSpray
Summary: Four boys on an impromptu camping trip unwittingly follow the same path as four hobbits did long ago, and meet someone who remembers days "when there was less noise and more green" and beyond. Complete.
1. Part One

**Disclaimer:** Only the four OCs are mine. All else, including some of the dialogue and, of course, the songs, belong to Professor Tolkien. I'm just borrowing.

**Author's Note:** This story is a modern-day tale, and was inspired by an anecdote two of my guy friends are fond of telling, when one got a group of them lost while camping due to his lack of navigational and time-keeping skills. This tale is different in many ways, of course, but I must thank my friends for being never-ending sources of amusement and, on occasion, inspiration. Originally it was to be a one-shot, but in the writing it grew longer than I expected, so it is now split into two parts. It is also my first stab at third person omniscient POV, so I can get into the heads of all the boys, though out of habit I did choose one to focus on more than the others.

* * *

_Up the Withywindle  
Part One_

It started out as a normal camping trip. The four boys got their stuff together, piled into Mike's car, and headed off. They drove to an old forest no one entered very often, thinking it would be fun to explore. It bordered a park, and Mike parked the car near a playground, where some elementary school kids were running around. A lazy brown river flowed by, and Mike pointed to it as the others got their backpacks out of the trunk. "We can follow the river," he said. "That way we won't get lost."

Tyler snorted as he hoisted his bag onto his shoulders. "If you're leading the way, we'll get lost no matter what we follow," he said. John laughed as he tossed Mike's bag to him. Alan closed the trunk, and once Mike locked the car, they set off, Mike leading the way in spite of Tyler's remark. He was the tallest of the boys, as well as the oldest, and the camping trip had been his idea, though his distinct lack of navigational skills was notorious.

Alan, John's brother and the youngest of the four, took up the rear. "Look how _big_ these trees are," he said as they left the sounds of the playground and road beyond behind them. "They must be _ancient!_"

"Reminds me of the Forbidden Forest," remarked John. Mike paused to look back at him quizzically. "…From Harry Potter?"

"Oh, right." Mike grinned and continued on. "Think we'll see any centaurs?"

"Or maybe Voldemort's running around sucking the blood of unicorns."

"Or maybe…" The conversation went on until none of them could think of anything else that might have been mentioned in the Harry Potter books. John, being the resident nerd of the group, naturally thought of the most.

They hiked for most of the day, following what appeared to be a footpath along the riverbank. "Is it just me," panted Alan as the afternoon stretched on, "or are the trees getting closer?"

"No, it's not just you," Tyler said. "They are. Hey Mike, let's stop for a break."

"What? Come on, we haven't gone that far yet."

"Dude, we've been walking all day!" John exclaimed.

"No we haven't."

Ty, John, and Alan halted. Mike continued on a few more steps before he realized that they were not following. "Mike, it's almost six in the evening," Ty said, pointing to his watch.

"No way, is it really?"

"Yeah."

"Well this is a crappy place to stop and camp."

"Then we'll keep going, but _only_ until we find a good place to stop," John said, stifling a yawn with his hand.

Alan looked back, and let out a yelp. "Guys!"

"What?"

"The trees moved!"

"…That would be the wind, Al," John said. Then all four of them paused. There _was_ no wind. Everything was absolutely still, except the river. No birds or beasts could be heard in the forest, either.

"I don't mean like that," Alan whispered. "Look back. There are trees where the path was." Everyone turned, and found it to be true. The path behind them was blocked now, by a rather gnarled old tree. "Hey, John?"

"Yeah?"

"In the Forbidden Forest…did the trees move?"

John thought for a minute, and then replied, "Not that I ever read."

"Come on, let's go find a better place to camp," Mike said, apparently unconcerned about the growing mystery of the trees. They picked up the pace, Alan soon lagging behind as his shorter legs failed to keep up with the longer strides of Ty, Mike, and John. As they walked, the path grew narrower, as though they were being herded closer and closer to the river's edge. It occurred to them that they did not even know the name of this river, or where it lead or how far. As they walked, all four boys started to become increasingly tired – not the sort of tired that came with a long day's walk, but a sleepy sort of tired that weighed heavily on their eyelids and made their feet feel leaden.

"Just up ahead," Mike said finally. "There's a wider clearing, around a big old willow tree."

"Keep away from the tree!" Alan exclaimed. "These trees creep me out, and they _move_."

"They're trees, Al," John said. "What can they _possibly_ do to us?"

"Don't you feel like they're watching, and like they don't like us?" Alan insisted. "It's freaking me out!" He thought he could hear whispers as the leaves moved in a sudden breeze, coming from upriver. John yawned, closely followed by Tyler.

"Let's set up camp here," said Mike as they reached the clearing by the old willow. "Look at those weird cracks. D'you think an animal has a den in there or something?" He went to the willow to examine it, and ended up sitting down beneath it. Alan remained standing while Tyler and John tossed their backpacks to the ground and stretched out. The sun sank ever lower, and the trees began casting long, eerie shadows. Alan went to the edge of the river and splashed his face with the cool water, which helped him wake up a little bit.

Then he heard a muffled click, and walked back around to the other side of the tree. What he saw frightened him even worse than the whispers in the leaves. "Mike!" he shouted. "John, Ty, get up, the tree's _eating Mike!_"

"It's doing what, now?" Tyler sat up, and looked to where Mike was halfway inside the tree, still apparently asleep. "Oh my God!" He and John scrambled to their feet, and together they tried to pry the willow crack open, while Alan grabbed Mike's ankles and pulled as hard as he could.

Then, suddenly, Tyler stopped. "Anyone else hear singing?" he asked. John and Alan paused also, though Mike had begun thrashing around. Sure enough, from downriver they could hear a deep, cheerful voice singing what sounded like careless nonsense.

John left the tree and went to the path. "Hey!" he called. "Hey, who's there? Can you help us?" As if in reply, the lyrics of the song became clear – though they were still nonsensical:

"_Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!  
Ring a dong! hop along! fall lal the willow!  
Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!"_

"Who's Tom Bombadillo?" Alan asked Tyler, who shrugged.

"Get me outa here!" came Mike's muffled voice from inside the tree. "It's going to slice me in half!" The singing increased in volume suddenly, and out of the gibberish came actual lyrics:

"_Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! My darling!  
Light goes the weather-wind and the feathered starling.  
Down along under Hill, shining in the sunlight,  
There my pretty lady is, River-woman's daughter,  
Slender as the willow-wand, clearer than the water.  
Old Tom Bombadil water-lilies bringing  
Comes hopping home again. Can you hear him singing?"_

"Yeah, we can hear you all right," Tyler muttered. "Who is this nut?"

"Tom Bombadil, or Bombadillo, or whatever," Alan replied.

Around the bend came hopping and skipping a man. He was about as tall as Alan was, with a thick, long, brown beard, bright blue eyes, and a red face creased with a hundred wrinkles. Tyler and Alan released Mike and stared, momentarily forgetting the danger in light of the stranger's altogether outlandish clothing. He wore big, yellow boots on his thick legs, and an old, tall hat with a long, bright blue feather stuck in the band, the same color as his coat. In his hands, like a tray, he had a large leaf, and on it was a carefully arranged pile of white water-lilies. "He wasn't joking about the lily thing, then," Alan observed.

"This is the weirdest camping trip ever," Tyler muttered.

"Hey, man, help us out here!" John exclaimed, hurrying forward.

"Whoa! Steady there!" exclaimed the man, holding up a hand while balancing the leaf of lilies in the other. John halted. "Where be you a-going to? What's the matter then? Do you know who I am? I'm Tom Bombadil. Tell me what's your trouble, for I'm in a hurry now; Goldberry is waiting."

"Our friend's stuck in the tree," John exclaimed, pointing to where Mike's legs continued to kick.

"What!" Tom Bombadil exclaimed. "Old Man Willow? Naught worse than that." He set the lilies down carefully, and then capered over to the tree. "That can soon be mended; I know the tune for him! Old grey Willow-man, I'll freeze his marrow cold, if he don't behave himself. I'll sing his roots off!" He gestured for Alan and Tyler to move aside, and when they did he put his mouth to the crack and began singing in a voice too low for them to catch the words. Mike kicked even more violently, and then Bombadil sprang away to break off a switch and smack the tree with it. "You let him out again, Old Man Willow! You should not be waking. Eat earth! Dig deep! Drink water! Go to sleep! Bombadil is talking!"

The crack widened all of a sudden, and Mike scrambled out of it, ending up on his behind, staring up, bewildered and grateful, at Tom Bombadil. "Thanks a ton!" he said.

"Yeah, thanks," chorused the other three, still bemused at the method Bombadil had used to rescue Mike.

"What _is_ Old Man Willow?" Tyler asked. "I mean, it's a tree, but obviously not a _normal_ tree…"

"No! I don't want to know!" Mike exclaimed, pressing his hands over his ears. "Forget it!"

"He's right," said Bombadil. "Some things are ill to hear when the world's in shadow." Suddenly, all the wrinkles in his face deepened as he smiled, and laughed at some joke only he understood.

The boys looked at each other, and then John asked, "Uh, what's so funny?"

"I am thinking of a day like this, one evening long ago, in the quiet of the world – when there was less noise, and more green," Bombadil replied, still laughing merrily. "No, you are not the first to be snared by Old Man Willow!" Suddenly, he clapped his hands. "You shall come home with me!" he announced. "The table is laden with yellow cream and honeycomb, and Goldberry is waiting! Follow after me as quick as you can!" He picked up his lilies, then, and danced off up the path, beginning to sing once again.

"Is he serious?" Mike asked after a moment.

"I guess so," Tyler replied. He picked up his backpack. "Come on. You were the one who wanted an adventure, Mike. Looks like you got what you wanted."

"Trust me, I did not mean an adventure like this," Mike muttered as he got to his feet. They set off down the path again, following Bombadil. "It's gonna get dark, soon. What does he expect us to do? We won't be able to see." Mists had begun curling up over the river, and they soon spilled onto the path, writhing like white snakes as the boys moved through them.

Suddenly, as the sun finally sank below the trees, and the stars began coming out overhead, they heard Tom Bombadil's voice floating back to them.

"_Hop along, my friends, up the Withywindle!  
Tom's going on ahead candles for to kindle.  
Down west sinks the Sun: soon you will be groping.  
When the night shadows fall, then the door will open,  
Out of the window-panes light will twinkle yellow.  
Fear no alder black! Heed no hoary willow!  
Fear neither root nor bough! Tom goes on before you.  
Hey now! Merry dol! We'll be waiting for you!"_

"I swear, he sings more than he breathes," John grumbled as they continued to make their way over the path. "Does he live in here?"

"I guess so," Mike said. "And it's a good thing he does, too."

"Truth," Alan said from the rear. Then he scrambled up into the middle of the other three as nightly noises began sounding in the forest around them. Apparently the spell of Old Man Willow had worn off, and animals had begun coming out again. The boys had left the riverbank, and were starting to climb. Off to one side they caught a white glimpse of a small waterfall, and not long after that the trees ended. They found themselves staring up a hill of grass, and above them the stars were already shining far brighter than any of them had ever seen.

As they continued on, they noted that someone obviously took care of the landscaping; the grass was neatly mowed, and the edge of the forest looked more like a trimmed hedge than anything else.

A door opened in the house atop the hill, and bright yellow light streamed out of it, and Bombadil's voice, singing again, came drifting down to them:

"_Hey! Come derry dol! Hop along, my hearties!  
Boys! Step up now! We are fond of parties.  
Now let the fun begin! Let us sing together!"_

Another voice rang out then, making the boys quicken their pace even as they were tempted to stop still and listen. It was terrifically old, and young, at the same time, and reminded them of clear water flowing merrily down from the hills on a bright spring morning.

"_Now let the song begin! Let us sing together  
Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather,  
Light on the budding leaf, dew on the feather,  
Wind on the open hill, bells on the heather,  
Reeds by the shady pool, lilies on the water:  
Old Tom Bombadil and the River-daughter!"_

Alan wondered how one was supposed to be the child of a river, but had no time to really ponder it, for suddenly they came to the door, and stepped into the house of Tom Bombadil, all filled with golden light and merry music.


	2. Part Two

_Up the Withywindle  
Part Two_

As the boys stepped through the door, they found themselves in a long low room, the ceiling just high enough for Mike to stand straight. Candles burned brightly all about them, and lamps swung from the beams. These Mike did have to be careful of, lest he knock his head into one.

At the far end of the room sat a chair, facing them. In the chair was the most beautiful lady any of them had ever seen. They stopped and stared; it seemed almost like she was sitting upon a throne in the middle of a pool, for jars and bowls had been set around the chair, and someone had placed the water-lilies in them. The lady was clad all in green, shot with silver thread, like dew on early morning grass. Her belt was of gold, and fashioned to look like lilies and forget-me-nots, and on her shoulder she wore a brooch set with stones of various shades of blue.

She smiled at them, and the boys realized that it was her clear voice they had heard singing. Feeling suddenly shy, awkward, and clumsy, they bowed. "Welcome, good guests!" she exclaimed, leaping up and running to them.

Bombadil entered the house just behind them, and shut the door, exclaiming, "Let us shut out the night, and heed no nightly noises!" He did not have his hat on anymore; it had been replaced by a crown of forest leaves. The boys looked at each other, and back at their hosts, still bemused and unsure of what to do. It seemed almost as if they had stepped out of their own time to a place where green and growing things were wilder and more untamed, and where the most pleasure was gotten from the simplest things, such as good food, song, and company.

Tom took them to a room where four mattresses were already set up with soft blankets and pillows, and there were also pitchers and basins where they could wash their hands and faces. While they took care of basic hygiene, Tom skipped out of the room, singing again, to help Goldberry set the table or something.

"So," John said when Tom was gone, "he seems…"

"Weird," Mike suggested.

"Childish?" guessed Tyler.

"Old," Alan said.

"…I was going to say interesting," John said. He, Tyler, and Mike turned to Alan. "Why do you say _old?_"

"I dunno. He and Goldberry both, they're old and young at the same time. Don't you get that impression?" Alan looked back and forth between the other three.

"You can't be old and young at the same time," Mike pointed out.

"You can be old and _seem_ young, and therefore seem young and old at once," Alan argued. After a moment of thoughtful silence, Tyler shrugged, unsure of what he thought, and John found himself inclined to agree with Alan. Mike continued to insist that if one was old, one was old, and only plastic surgery could make one seem younger.

"It's different than that," was all Alan said in reply. He himself was not entirely sure just how to explain what he perceived.

When they returned to the dining room, the table had indeed been laden with yellow cream and honeycomb, and also with white bread and butter, fresh greens, and berries that looked ready to burst with juice. To drink, there was what appeared to be clear, cool water. Tom and Goldberry bade the boys sit and eat, and they obeyed, awkwardly and cautiously at first, but with growing enthusiasm. Talk was merry, and though none of them ever clearly remembered what the conversation was about, they all would recall later that they themselves had begun singing, as though it were more natural than talking, and that they had never tasted such sweet, fresh food as was served in the house of Tom Bombadil and Goldberry.

Afterward, Goldberry and Tom cleaned up the table. Tom capered around, hopping and dancing and singing nonsense as he cleared away the dishes, and Goldberry's grace and the ease with which she moved seemed almost comical in contrast, but they wove together like an intricate dance, and the entire dealing was far more efficient than any of the boys had seen in their own homes.

When Tom left the room for a few minutes, John got up his courage and asked Goldberry, "Fair lady, who _is_ Tom Bombadil?" He blushed, feeling slightly foolish for calling her a fair lady, but she smiled and took it in stride.

"He is," she replied simply, "as you have seen him. Tom Bombadil is the Master. No one has ever caught him wading in the water or leaping on the hill-tops in light or shadow. He has no fear."

It was not the answer any of the boys had really been looking for, but it reinforced Alan's curious observations that even Mike could not now argue with. There was something very odd about Goldberry and Bombadil, as old and young as old trees with new leaves in springtime.

After all was cleaned and put away, Tom sat with the boys by the fire, and Goldberry put the lights out, save one or two candles, and bid them good night. "Good night, fair guests! Heed no nightly noises, for nothing passes door and window here save starlight and moonlight, and wind off the hill-top."

For a while they sat in silence with Tom, who stared into the fire as though lost in some faraway memory. Finally, John asked, "So, did you know we were there by the willow, or were you just on the path today by chance?"

Tom stirred. "Eh? Did I know you were there? No, 'twas just chance that brought me, if chance you call it. There have not been visitors in these woods since Olórin last came, long ago." He paused thoughtfully, but before anyone could ask who Olórin was, he went on, "But it is no surprise you were led there; Old Grey Willow-man, he's a mighty singer, and it's hard for unwary folk to escape his mazes and paths. But I was not looking for you. Tom had an errand there, that he dared not hinder…" He paused again, nodding as though sleep were overtaking him. And just when the boys thought he would not speak again, he started to sing, quite softly:

"_I had an errand there: gathering water-lilies,  
green leaves and lilies white to please my pretty lady,  
the last ere the year's end to keep them from the winter,  
to flower by her pretty feet till the snows are melted.  
Each year at summer's end I go to find them for her,  
in a wide pool, deep and clear, far down Withywindle…"_

He sang softly of his first meeting with the River-daughter, sitting in the rushes in the pool he now returned to annually. The boys, Alan in particular, listened enraptured, almost able to see the scene before them as Bombadil sang. Then, with a bright glint of blue, Tom looked up at them and changed his tune:

"_And that proved well for you – for now I shall no longer  
go down deep again along the forest-water,  
not while the year is old. Nor shall I be passing  
Old Man Willow's house this side of spring-time,  
not till the merry spring, when the River-daughter  
dances down the withy-path to bathe in the water."_

He laughed suddenly, as though remembering an old joke, much as he had done earlier beside Old Man Willow. "What is so funny?" Tyler asked. "You've been laughing since we met, like we remind you of something."

"I said before, you're not the only folk to be snared by Old Man Willow! The last were four small folk, smaller than you, and they heard the same songs we've sung here today. One was an Elf-friend, and Goldberry took to him, for fair was his speech and good was his heart. He had a pretty trinket, the reason for their journey. But that tale is long in the telling, and full of dark things best saved for morning-light! Rest now on the pillow, heed no nightly noises! Fear no grey willow!" With that, Tom got to his feet and took a candle, with which he led the boys back to the bedroom. They fell upon their mattresses and sleep soon took them.

In the darkest hours of the night, all four boys dreamt of strange things, of walking trees, of tall Men with shining swords, of horrible monsters with twisted faces, of folk as fair as clear starlight, with voices like silver rain, and three glorious gems that shone like stars come to earth, but then vanished, one by one, to the sea, earth and sky. Then little people, no bigger than children, danced through the dreamscape, singing of good food, hot bathwater, and warm beds at the end of long, arduous journeys.

The strange dreams faded eventually, for all but Alan, who continued to dream of walking along the beach, following a strange, haunting melody someone played upon a harp, weaving the notes into the crashing of the waves, and singing in an ancient language that spoke of immense sadness and loss, but also of great works of valor and glory.

Alan was the first to wake, the haunting song still playing in his mind. Almost he expected to find the Sea outside the window, with the mysterious harper sitting on the sand still singing his lament. But when he looked out, he saw first bean poles, and then beyond them a neat kitchen garden.

Tom came dancing in not long after the sun came up. Alan turned from the window as their host roused Alan, Mike, and John. "Good morning!" cried Tom as he opened the window Alan had been staring out. A cool breeze wafted in, heavy with the smell of rain. "The Sun won't show her face today, it is Goldberry's fall cleaning and washing day! Too wet for you folk, let you rest until the Sun comes again! Hey derry del, my hearties! There's breakfast on the table, come soon and you'll get some, or if you come later, grass and rainwater!" And off he went again.

"Is it strange that I'm almost getting used to that?" Mike wondered out loud as he pulled a clean shirt from his backpack.

"Not really," John replied as he fished through his own bag.

Once they were dressed, they went out to eat breakfast. Neither Tom nor Goldberry joined them, though they could hear both; Tom going in and out, upstairs and down, clattering in the kitchen here, or jumping around outside. Goldberry was above them, singing in her clear voice that sounded so much like the rain that her words were hardly distinguishable.

After they ate, Tom appeared again, and sat with them by the fireside, and spoke to them, sometimes lapsing into song, about many things. At first his talk focused on the forest, and they learned more than they might have wanted about Old Man Willow, whose influenced stretched over almost the entire wood, which was much smaller than it had been many long years ago. This fact seemed to be a great source of sadness for Tom, who repeatedly lamented the lack of green in the world and the amount of noise Men made. His talk climbed trees, and leapt from limb to limb, following squirrels and their doings, and then delved deep into the ground, tracing the roots of ancient trees, and came back up again to dance along a deer path, and then to cascade down a waterfall and flow out to the Sea.

The boys listened in silence, enraptured by the images conjured by the words of Tom Bombadil, which left the forest eventually, and spoke of mighty kings with shining swords and stars in their eyes. Gold and treasure filled the castles that were eventually destroyed in fire and war, and the kings laid their kindred to rest beneath mighty barrows, lying with their gold and jewels. The Barrows were few now, destroyed by advancing civilization, though Barrow Wights still lurked in a few that remained in the northern reaches of the forest. Tom spoke of the descendents of those kings, forgotten men wandering the wilds and protecting innocent, ignorant people from servants of a Dark Lord who he would not name, but who sent shivers down the boys' backs anyway. Worse than Harry Potter's Voldemort, John thought.

Tom spoke then of a great Quest, and four small visitors who he had rescued from Old Man Willow, and who had then gone on to do great deeds of renown and strength of will. He sang the praises of royal valor, greenleaves, and endurance like stone, and of men with shining golden hair, flying across the plains on mighty horses, their spears shimmering in the sunlight, and of a white tree standing dead in a white city, replaced by another living tree that flowered while the Wingéd Crown sat upon the brow of the King. Of fair folk he told them, whose time had faded long ago, though a very few still dwelt in the shadows of the world, fading and often passing unseen by mortal Men, and of the little folk who were not quite so fair, but just as quiet, and good at going about unseen.

Eventually Tom's talk lead to the Sea, over which the Fair Folk had passed. "To the Sea, to the Sea," he chanted, suddenly very solemn. "The white gulls are crying, the wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying…"

"Wait a minute!" cried John suddenly. "I've heard that before, or read it somewhere!" everyone looked at him, Tyler, Mike, and Alan suddenly disconcerted to find themselves sitting inside by the crackling fireplace and listening to the rain outside, rather than standing on the seashore. Tom looked at John curiously. "In a book…I read it a while ago."

Tom laughed suddenly. "Oh yes!" he cried. "One of your folk put the old tales to paper, but everyone thinks them just that! Hey merry-o, you've read it, eh?"

"I think, but I can't remember what it was called."

Still chuckling, Tom went on to describe the Sea and the path that lead to an immortal land where the shores were long and white, and the grass greener than any of them could imagine.

After a while, there came a lull in the conversation. Tom stared into the fire, his eyes faraway as his mind walked in a different land and time. After a few minutes, Mike got up his courage and asked, "Who _are_ you? I mean, who are you really?"

Tom stirred. "Eh? What? Don't you know my name yet? That's the only answer; who are you, alone, yourself, and nameless? I'm Eldest, is what I am. I was here before the first raindrop and the first acorn. I made paths before the Big People, and I'll be here still when all is passed."

Then Goldberry came in, a lit candle in hand, and bid them all come to dinner. The boys were startled, for it did not seem like that long since they had eaten breakfast, though when food was mentioned Tyler's stomach gave a loud growl. Tom jumped up, laughing. "Yes, let us have food and drink! Long tales are thirsty work, and listening is hungry labor!" He disappeared through the door, and soon came back with a laden tray, and together he and Goldberry set the table, again with the same grace and cheerfulness that seemed so like a dance.

While they waited for their hosts to set the table, the boys huddled. "Do you remember the book yet?" Mike asked.

"No, not yet. It probably won't hit me until well after we leave," John replied. "That's how it usually works."

"Yeah, those tales he was telling _do_ sound really familiar," Alan agreed, "though I would have never picked up on the song he started chanting about the Sea."

"Poems like that tend to stick in my memory. And now that I think of it, the name Tom Bombadil sounds super familiar, too. It's just that this house makes it hard to think of remembering stuff like that, you know?"

"Maybe it's magic," Tyler suggested. Mike glanced sidelong at him, but found that he was serious. "I'm not gonna lie, I'm starting to believe in that kind of stuff."

"Like the man-eating tree wasn't enough to convince you," Alan replied, rolling his eyes.

"I'm sure there's a scientific explanation for that…somewhere…"

"Yeah, _sure._"

After they ate another wonderful meal, Goldberry sang for them, songs of merry hills and streams, and soft, quite pools that glittered in the starlight. It was with disappointment that they bid her goodnight and joined Bombadil again by the fire, though they did not say long. Tom spoke again of four previous visitors with a knack for trouble, and taught the boys a rhyme he had taught them, and that had saved them from a nasty old Barrow Wight. "Come along, my lads, sing it aloud for me!" It was an easy tune to pick up, and the words were fairly simple:

"_Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!  
By water, wood and hill, by reed and willow,  
By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us!  
Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!"_

And with that, they went to bed again. This time their night was largely undisturbed by dreams, save John's. He dreamt of the Sea again, of grey ships in a harbor. He watched from afar as their sails unfurled, billowing immediately in the strong, easterly breeze. To the West, towards the sunset, they headed, leaving the harbor and surrounding city empty and silent. John felt an incredible sadness at the sight, as though something precious and beautiful was leaving the world, never to return. He looked up, and saw a single glittering star in the darkening sky, a star which remained until all else in the dream faded into darkness.

The next morning the boys woke and found themselves reluctant to leave the simple, fair house of Tom Bombadil and Goldberry, although the sun was shining brightly. They ate breakfast alone again, and both Tom and Goldberry came to see them off. "Follow the withy path, my lads, and heed no Old Willow-man!" Tom told them. "Hurry past him quick as you can, and watch for roots that might trip you up!" They thanked both of them many times for their hospitality, and for all that they had been taught.

"Farewell, good guests!" Goldberry said. "May the stars ever guide your paths!"

"Good bye," the boys said, starting off down the path. They looked over their shoulders many times, always seeing their hosts watching. Goldberry seemed like a golden flower in the sunlight, and the feather in Tom's hat beside her glinted blue.

As they had been told, the boys hurried past Old Man Willow, giving him a very wide berth – especially Mike, who kept looking over his shoulder for several minutes after they passed out of its sight. "You can almost sense how nasty it is inside," he remarked. "Who'd have thought of trees being…you know, _awake_."

John stopped suddenly, and then shook his head. "Dangit, I nearly had it. The book, I mean. Then I lost it."

"Hate it when that happens," Tyler remarked as they kept going. "Well anyway, we had an adventure, sort of. I'd like to know who Olórin was, though. You know, the guy Bombadil said was the last to visit him way long ago."

"Olórin," John muttered. "I know I've read _that_ somewhere, too!"

They got back to John and Alan's house to hang out and play X-box games, and John still hadn't had his epiphany. While the game loaded he had been scanning his bookshelves, looking for the book he knew he had. He didn't see it, and eventually sighed, deciding it wasn't worth the trouble.

As they played the game, Alan's mind kept wandering back up the Withywindle to the house of Tom Bombadil. He wished to return there, but knew, somehow, that none of them ever would. Some adventures were only meant to be lived once, after all.


End file.
